


To Demand Satisfaction

by Amythe3lder



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Power Imbalance, Spanking, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/pseuds/Amythe3lder
Summary: Lestrade helps Anderson get his job back. Greg helps Philip let go of some guilt. Also: sex.





	To Demand Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smirkdoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smirkdoctor/gifts), [fortunatelykeendetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatelykeendetective/gifts).



> I wonder if I’m dreaming  
> I feel so unashamed  
> I can’t believe this is happening  
> To me  
> “Show Me the Way”-Peter Frampton

“You really don’t need to thank me, Anderson,” Lestrade said. “It was nothing.”

It had been something, all right.

Philip had got a call two days earlier from a Chief Inspector McCathern inviting him to come in and discuss the possibility of employment. When he’d arrived early for his interview, Sally had snatched him into a storage room for a different reason than she used to. Without so much as a greeting she’d informed him that Greg had “spent his whole lunch break in the chief’s office convincing him to give you another chance, Philip. Don’t fuck this up.” The last would have sounded harsher if she hadn’t smiled and patted his cheek as she said it. Before she opened the door and released him back into the wild, she glanced at him in his new suit and fresh haircut and said. “Huh. Good choice on the beard. Crazy people always do look better in beards.”

Philip knew his work had suffered from his little fixation on Sherlock’s faked death. Lestrade had stuck his neck out to the higher-ups by pressing the issue of Anderson’s reinstatement, risking more than was probably wise with his own reprimand not so far out of recent memory. If it had taken an hour to put in a good word for him, Greg must have needed some very good words indeed.

Philip stepped all the way into Lestrade’s office and swung the door closed behind himself. “What did you say? They were pretty pleased to see the back of me before; how did you change their minds?” It couldn’t have been enough that he’d been proven right. Validation didn’t necessarily lead to vindication, especially when he’d been wrong about so much.

Lestrade shrugged. “You figured out that Sherlock wasn’t really dead, tracked him all over the world--you started a club, for chrissakes. You did your research, Philip. That’s a man I want on my team.”

“Thank y-” he broke off when Lestrade winced and waved a hand at him.

“None of that. All I did was tell ‘em the truth.”

Of course Greg Lestrade wouldn’t see a need to be thanked for that. The man was so full of integrity he probably sweated the truth. His shirts probably smelled like justice at the end of the day- and oh, wasn’t that exactly the sort of thought he needed to stop having?

“Well you’re the only person who was interested in hearing my theories at first.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? The forced intimacy of only having one person you could talk to. Surely with enough work to distract him, he could get over this little crush he’d developed. Already he was able to look at Greg and not want to sling a leg over him.

Greg licked his lips. _Oh. Back to square one._ “I--er--wasn’t actually interested in your theories. I was just worried about you.” He reached to rub the back of his neck, and Philip caught himself staring at the way his sleeve stretched tight over his bicep. He thought Greg had caught him too, so he shifted his gaze quickly to the wall behind him and tried to appear fascinated by the calendar.

Unfortunately, he overdid it.

Greg’s brow furrowed as he turned around. “What are you so interested in?”

“A date,” Philip answered without thinking, and tasted panic when his brain caught up. “I mean, nothing. The calendar. As friends, though! Mates. Of course it would be a matey drink. If… that had been what I’d meant. To say thanks. And sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Greg’s eyes had narrowed while he babbled, but they also seemed warmer. Darker.

Shit.

“Well. If I hadn’t misread everything in the first place with, you know, Sherlock and Moriarty, you wouldn’t have got stuck under review and…” He trailed off, unwilling to bring up his overwhelming guilt at the news of Sherlock’s death, guilt that had ultimately fueled the obsession that cost him his job and all of his relationships. All except one.

“Anderson,” Greg said slowly, “are you still trying to make up for that? It’s fine, I’m fine, even Sherlock’s fine. That’s done.”

 _Not for me_ , he thought. He could only shake his head.

“What’s it going to take for you to cut that loose? You want me to take a swing at you?”

Philip hesitated. This was the edge of something he was only guessing at, but all the clues were there. “Maybe,” he admitted, more breath than voice.

Everything about Greg seemed to pull upwards from his eyebrows as he sat up straighter. He gave Philip a considering look. “Okay. Sure. If that’s what you need.” He scratched his chin and his blunt nails made a faint rasp against his stubble. “What… what do you need?”

“What do you think is fair?”

Greg smiled kindly. “I think you’ve already punished yourself plenty. It’s for you to decide what happens next.”

Philip took a couple of seconds to steady himself. He asked, “How much are you comfortable with?”

“With you?” Greg let out a long breath. “A lot. Just about anything, I’d say.” He met Philip’s eyes, and for the first time Philip considered that maybe this wasn’t as one-sided as he’d thought. He might be misreading this too, but there was a quick way to find out.

“Okay,” he said, and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“What, here?” Greg’s voice rose half an octave and he glanced around his office.

Philip knew the blinds over the observation windows were flipped shut, but he was going to do his best to pretend they weren’t. It was after office hours now and most people had gone home anyway, but he wanted this to be as public as possible.

“Here is where I earned the punishment. Here is where I’ll take it.” He saw Greg’s confidence shaded by a nervous tension and stopped, shirt untucked and undone. He’d hate to stop, but a change in venue wouldn’t be the end of the world, though it might be the end of the dream he must be having. “If that’s all right, boss?”

At _boss_ , Greg’s eyes snapped to him in his current state of undress, and he rallied. “People might hear,” he warned, but he said it through the beginnings of a grin. “Or is that part of the plan?”

“We ought to give them something to listen to, then.” Philip pulled his vest up over his head and was amazed that he sounded so calm.

“Like what?”

“How would you feel about warming my arse and then fucking my mouth?” He bent in half to untie his shoelaces--and illustrate his offer--so he missed his chance to watch Greg’s face go slack with anticipation. He had never expected to have Greg aim that look at him, and to turn around to see it fully formed was a heady thing. He was grounded by the throb of his cock and the sting of the blister where his new shoes had rubbed him wrong. He was really here, and this showed every sign of happening.

“If you insist,” Greg replied as he stood up and tugged his tie loose. “Yeah. You know now you mention it, I think there's one or two things you do need to answer for.” Philip hesitated a second with his trousers and pants, but only a second. It was surreal being naked and vulnerable in front of this man. Greg studied him while he curled his toes against the rug and tried to slow his breathing.

Greg rested his hands on his belt for a few seconds before sending Philip a questioning look.

Philip shook his head, hard. “Not the belt, please, boss.” His breath came out shaky.

“No, you’re right. As serious as your offence was, that’s a bit extreme,” Greg said, looking as relieved as Philip felt. “Hands should be all right for this, yeah? Although I’m not against getting a paddle for next time.”

_Next time._

Philip realised he’d been silently marveling for too long when Greg shifted his weight and added softly, “If, you know, you… it’s fine if this is just a one-off.”

“I should marvel louder,” Philip mumbled.

“What?”

“I mean I would be very glad if there was a next time. And a time after that, as well, yes. Yes.”

“Oh good,” Greg said, smiling wide, “lie across my desk, then.”

Philip looked at the forms and files spread across the surface and hesitated. “Should I clear it off first?”

“What for?”

“Er. I...” Philip thought of the few times he’d found someone willing to give him what he wanted. Whether he was seeking punishment or simply trying to get out of his own head for a while, “...things could get… messy,” he managed, in as few embarrassing words as possible.

“Don’t make a mess, then. If you do,” Greg leaned in close enough that Philip could feel his warm breath tickle his ear, “you’ll be tidying up with your tongue. And you’ll help me redo the paperwork you ruin.”

Philip was fairly sure he hadn’t explained well enough, but the promise of Greg’s words had him hardening further. “Right, boss.”

He bent over the desk and hesitated only a moment before putting his weight on it, trapping his erection between the papers and his belly. He hoped the discomfort would help him focus, but he knew better than to count on it.

Greg slid a warm palm down Philip’s back and cupped his arse, giving it a little squeeze. “Ready?” he asked.

*          *          *

Looking back, Philip Anderson had been drawn to Greg since his first week on the team. Even when completely stymied, Greg Lestrade exuded the casual confidence of a good leader. He managed to keep the bickering light, everyone more or less on task, and a loose leash on Sherlock. It was--not to sound sappy--inspiring.

Philip hadn’t noticed his thoughts turning from appreciation to lust until after he’d been sacked. Sally would ring him sometimes and speak to him long enough to establish that they were both still feeling a bit shit about everything, but Greg actually dragged him out of his flat and listened to him ramble. Soon he was showing off even his unpolished theories and veering into conjecture, and it slowly dawned on him that he was just trying to keep those eyes away from the door and on him a little longer.

Then one day, Philip had glanced down as he watched Greg leave the pub and he’d found himself acutely happy to see him walk away--enough so that he’d needed to delay his own exit. It had been all he could do not to lose his train of thought every time Greg breathed, after that.

*          *          *

“Ready,” Philip confirmed.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much?”

“I’ll say ‘red.’”

“What if,” Greg inquired, “it’s not quite enough?”

 _It’s not enough right now_ , Philip thought. He wiggled his bum in what he hoped was an enticing manner. “I’ll ask for more.”

“And you’re sure-”

“For the sake of actual fuck, Greg, yes I’m sure. I need it. If you don’t want to, you can back out, but the suspense is horrible,” Philip hissed.

“Perfect,” Greg said just loud enough for Philip to hear the grin in his voice. The first smack sounded louder than he’d expected it in the otherwise quiet office. Greg’s ended the contact with a light rub before drawing back for the next one.

“Okay?” he checked after number three, and Philip nodded awkwardly, his face pressed into the desk.

There was a pause and he realised what Greg was waiting for. “Okay, yes, good,” he answered aloud, and the spanking resumed.

Before long, Philip was lost in the intimate rhythm of Greg’s hand striking and then soothing the smarting flesh of his backside. Each blow sent a jolt to his stiff prick and rocked him into the desk. He had thought the weight of Greg’s hand was reasonable enough--maybe even a little on the easy side--but the repeated contact was turning a sting into a deep burn. It occurred to Philip that Greg was too good at this to completely inexperienced, and he wondered if he’d gone to the same clubs Philip himself had visited. The idea of running across his old boss in some dim place where no names were spoken made him groan. He became aware that he was rolling his hips into the motion despite the unforgiving surface.

He started to whimper, either for more or for an end. He was granted the latter.

“With me, Anderson?” Greg asked. Philip felt his hand come to rest on his arse and he flinched, his skin scorched by the contact. He ground out an affirmative response and Greg stroked his other hand down his back. “Good job. You should be proud of yourself. I am,” Greg added. “Can you stand up?”

He was sure he could. He felt reasonably certain that he could juggle angry toads if Greg asked him to. He pushed his upper body up and off the desk and stumbled, lightheaded and pleasantly floaty.

Greg caught his arm and steadied him, holding him close enough for Philip to feel him hard in his trousers. “Here, there’s no rush, darling.” Then he looked down in time to see another heavy drop of preejaculate join the smeared puddle on the desk. “Ah.”

“I meant to say that I couldn’t really-”

Greg chuckled, “I see. Like that, is it?” When Philip shrugged uncomfortably, his face turned serious. “Well, that was my misunderstanding. Should have known you wouldn’t lose control, you’re too good for that, aren’t you? You can still help me redo the forms, but,” he lifted his chin to indicate Philip’s dripping erection, “you might as well make a proper mess first.”

“What, me?”

“Yup.”

“But I… you..”

“I still plan to take you up on your offer, but by the time I’m done using your mouth I don’t think I’ll be much good for anything, so I figured I’d get you off first. If you don’t mind,” he added with a wink.

Philip did not mind. He didn’t mind when Greg pulled him closer and kissed him, slow and soft and filthy. He didn’t mind Greg’s fingers digging into his hips as they ground against each other. He did mind that Greg was still wearing clothes, but when he guided Greg out of his flies a minute later to the sound of him groaning in relief, he decided that actually he wasn’t all that concerned about that either.

Abruptly, Greg caught his hands and spun him back to face the desk, saying, “That seems like a good stopping point.” He drew Philip against him so he could feel his cock in the crevice of his arse. He reached around his hip. “Yes?”

Philip’s ‘yes’ was emphatic and Greg’s hands were soft. The fabric and sawtooth zipper dragged across his heated skin as Greg gently rocked against him and stroked. He was on the edge just from the sounds they were making and the terrible sting in his backside, so when Greg tightened his fist and pushed him forward with his own body from behind, that was it. He came moaning, semen rushing over Greg’s fingers and onto the soiled papers below.

“Shit,” he breathed, and Greg’s quiet laughter warmed the back of his neck. Greg’s arms held him up until his knees were steady.

He didn't rest long. When Greg backed up to give him space, Philip turned and gave him a nudge towards his chair. He found himself looking forward to this. Mostly he was looking forward to the way he knew Greg's eyes would open wide when he sank to his knees. He was right.

Greg’s cock was hot and thick in his hand and soft against his lips when Philip bent to press kisses to it. Under the stream of curses, he heard the arms of the chair creaking where Greg gripped them. Philip stopped a moment to pry his fingers up and slide them into his hair. The curses got more inventive.

Greg took his mouth tentatively at first, adding light pressure to the back of Philip's head while he tilted up. When that was met with no trouble, Greg put a bit more force behind it until he was thrusting gently upwards to meet his mouth. Philip kept forgetting to breathe. The weight of the prick sliding over his tongue consumed all of his attention.

The tension in Greg’s thighs was his first sign, the voice above him gasping out a warning amid the nonsense was his second. Philip only redoubled his efforts, adding a little pressure to the underside. When Greg came, the taste of salt was accompanied by a few seconds of ringing silence followed by the sound of his surname riding a hard exhale.

“Anderson!”

Philip tried to swallow while grinning broadly around the cock in his mouth, with mixed results. He sat back and said, “I think we're on first name basis now,” and was treated to the sight of Greg Lestrade giggling madly.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to ~~blame~~ _thank_ twitter and all the people in that thread who prompted me to write this, and then continued to express interest so I couldn't forget about it. Thanks especially to Sassyhippiegirl who suggested post-reinstatement shagging and Smirkdoctor who said Anderson needed punishment. Hugs to Trudy, Merinda, and Lee for cheering this on, and Redscudery for being a fantastic beta. I'm lucky to have friends who encourage me to create filth. <3


End file.
